Towards the end of Junior school, the teachers started to strike a lot. They still did the standard lessons but nobody was around for extra curricular stuff like the end of year play or certain lunch times. For lunch times, therefore, we had to head home. I am not sure if it was every lunchtime of Fridays. I assume it was Fridays because I’d head to Grandma’s and she’d make me fish and chips.
It was unusual to just be me on my own with Grandma in her small, red bungalow. We didn’t chat much those lunch times. Just watched telly, ate her home cooked fish and chips and then headed back to school. But it was good.
The small, red bungalow, one of many in…what’s it called…sheltered accomodation? Everyone there had their marbles and were well enough to take care of themselves but there was a warden on duty who would check in twice a day and cords in each room to pull if you fell or were having any other sort of crisis.
The bungalow had a narrow corridor from the front door. One step, and to the left was a box room that I always remember full of furniture. I think it had a bed in. I think I maybe stayed over once or twice. A step to the right was grandma’s room. More dark, wooden furniture and a high bed.
For a while, after Grandma had been burgled by a smack head (I assume it was a smack head – no self respecting non smack head criminal would rob old peope while they slept, surely). she had a plank of wood next to her bed with nails she’d hammered into it. Dad removed it, pointing out that if she ever confronted anyone with it they’d just take it off her then gawd knows where we’d be.
Another step forward, to the left was the bathroom where she inexplicably had a selection of soft toilet roll and that tracing paper stuff. Who would choose the latter? Was the soft stuff for guests?
And then a final step forward and you were in what was quite a large kitchen overlooking Herringthorpe playing fields. We’d go for Sunday dinner quite often if memory serves me right, squished around the drop leaf table in the kitchen. Meat was well done in those days. Gravy was plentiful and tasty.
Next to the kitchen was a small living room, sideboard and bar gas fireplace and tucked away was a large store cupboard full of anything that might come in useful. This was Grandma’s response to the war -to never throw away anything that might come in handy. Turns out paper bags and rubber bands were particularly coveted.
She had a few ornaments, some brass knick knacks and books, encyclopedias and dictionaries to help with the crossword. For a while she had an electric keyboard that she learned to play.
While Nanna’s home made me feel like I was with someone at peace, Grandma’s made me feel like I was with someone with a pent up, driven energy and lots to do. She channeled that into her crossrwords, reading, baking her bread, cooking her meals and into her family.
There was an…I don’t know what…an underyling frustration or dissapointment there? She was bright, healthy, practical but for much of her life she was left caring for others. Her mum was one of those who had her running around after her
Florrie (my great grandma) goes down in family lore as a bit of a battleaxe. I am not sure she could read and write. Did she go to school? Doubtful and if she did, at some point early on she was hoiked out to work in service. Her employers lived at Clifton park and the house is now a museum where for a while the main attraction was an albino toad.
If Florrie and her daughter were at all like me – and something i can’t put my finger on makes me think that they were – I am not suprised they were frustrated. These were bright, strong women. There were no wasted opportunities here. There were no opportunities to waste.
Grandma would sometimes recount a story of being taken to the moors as a small girl and recalled the feeling of freedom. She was also, I think, quite fond of the war: not the brutal anhilation of millions of innocents side of things but the chance it gave her to get out and work at the local firestation.
Even though she was fit and strong I was – when a small child – constantly convinced she would drop dead due I think to the shock of white hair she had. Like me, she had two younger brothers. Apparently, she turned white very quickly when her middle brother died.
I think her children (three boys, like mine) gave her a lot of pride and joy and when I see how they looked after her and enjoyed her company throughout her life, I feel optimisitc for my future relationships with my sons.
I wasn’t emotionally close to Grandma in the same way as I was to Nanna and Grandad but I enjoyed running down the slope of grass to her front door, the smell of boiled veg and baking and watching her drink her strong tea from a pint mug. I particularly enjoy memories of boxing day with her, the family gathered around my aunt and uncle’s house, opening presents, my dad and uncle making her chuckle by weighing and sizing up their respective gifts to see who she’d given most to.
At one point in her life, one of the ladies at the big posh house was considering taking Grandma on the Grand Tour with her. I think this was the olden days equivalent of interrailing. I think the lady died and Grandma couldn’t go. I imagine she was hugely dissapointed but not hugely surprised. I imagine she didn’t think things like that could happen to her anyway
Things like that could happen to me. I’ve had a lot of opportunities come my way. I’ve made the most of many but I’ve wasted, god I’ve wasted, others and I feel a shame at the stupid decisions and the things I could have done but didn’t with all the privelaged stuff I’ve had.
There was a lot of ‘oughts’ and ‘musts’ and ‘have tos’ in Grandma’s life. She came in with very little and she left – materially – with only a tiny bit more. But in her long life here she raised three kind, clever men. Men who were respectful to women, who were hands on dads, who can (and are willing to) cook and tidy and clean and fix things.
They were all around to help out and hang out with her until the end, which came when she’d finally had enough of it all just before she turned 99. She probably didn’t think things like making it to 100 happened to her either.
I wish I knew more about what Grandma thought and felt about her life. The one things I feel I do know though is that if Nanna was my warm safety blanket, Grandma remains my steel core.
Cogito Ergo Mum 